


The Break Up

by roscoesantangelo



Category: Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping (2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 15:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roscoesantangelo/pseuds/roscoesantangelo
Summary: Owen takes it hard when the Style Boyz break up, his two best friends ripping him down the middle. An imagining of how the Style Boyz break up went down, and the after-effects.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout again to Charlotte (TheDarkestSunrise) for helping me out! I hope everyone likes this! :)

              Owen knew that they had been having problems—of course he did. It was absolutely impossible to ignore the anger rolling off of Lawrence in waves, and the way Conner was increasingly distancing himself from the group, taking more and more opportunities for solo work and always hogging the spotlight when they _were_ together. Owen had even tried to get them to _solve_ these problems, to just talk to each other for five minutes and work it out. Of course, it hadn’t worked. Lawrence was much too stubborn to actually talk to Conner about what was bothering him—seeming to think that Conner should just know what was wrong, and preferring to just hate him in silence and let his anger build up—and Conner refused to acknowledge that anything was even wrong when Owen mentioned it once. But despite these problems, he kept telling himself that it was going to be fine. That sometimes people just got mad, but it didn’t have to mean anything significant, and that they’d work it out. He wasn’t sure how much he could believe that—growing up with parents who fought constantly themselves, he knew that it wasn’t always just nothing, and just how badly it could affect all three of them—but Owen’s only option was hope. Other than forcing them to talk it out (which clearly wasn’t going to happen), there was nothing he could think of, and if he dwelled on it too much, he knew it’d consume him, and he’d become a worried mess. So he told himself instead that they’d be fine, it’d blow over. And a part of him really believed it. After all, they’d been friends since preschool, and they were basically brothers. Even with all the anger and neglect, he still wanted to believe that nothing could ruin their friendship. Especially not even something as trivial as fame and who wrote the Catchphrase Verse. Eventually one of them would realize they were being stupid, and it would all blow over.

                So Owen had known that they had some issues, but even in his darkest worries, he hadn’t ever imagined they’d turn out as bad as this.

                Owen sits on a couch backstage, Conner beside him and Lawrence across from them. The two haven’t said a word to each other since they got back here, just glared murderously at each other. Owen wonders how they’re keeping their anger together so perfectly—he’s not even the subject of Lawrence’s stare, but the pure hatred on his face makes Owen want to start bawling.

                Just ten minutes earlier, the three of them had been onstage, Owen soaking up the energy and excitement that he loved so much.

                Owen had heard the shouting behind him, but it was too hard to make it out over the music, so he just kept performing. It was only once he felt something hard hit the ground behind him that he finally turned around. Which was when he saw Lawrence on top of Conner, attacking him.

                “He’s biting me!” Conner screamed as Owen watched in horror.

                He couldn’t believe what was happening—still can’t. After everything they’ve been through, all their years of friendship, all of the hard work, and love, and everything that it took to make this band, he can’t imagine it could be torn apart like this, ruined by fame and jealously.

                “You are destroying everything that we have worked for!” Owen suddenly found himself shouting. It wasn’t exactly what’d he meant to say, and he worries it made him seem more concerned about the band—which, as hard as it would be to lose, isn’t nearly as important to him as ensuring that their friendship survives. It doesn’t matter much, however, as the other two don’t seem to have even noticed what he said.

                After that, Owen, in a panic, turned back around and just kept performing, completely unsure of what to do with himself anymore. Not long after, security showed up and pulled Conner and Lawrence offstage, leaving a _very_ uncomfortable Owen to follow them down.

                And that’s how they wound up here, Owen feeling almost sick with worry for the future of their friendship—still telling himself that _surely_ they can work this out, they just need to talk—and Conner and Lawrence trying to kill each other with their eyes.

                “So…” Owen starts, deciding that enough is enough. “Let’s, um… chat…”

                “ _‘Chat’_?” Conner asks, incredulously. “‘ _Chat’, really_? You wanna have a nice little ‘chat’ about the fact that Lawrence just tried to kill me?”

                “Okay,” Owen says nervously. “Maybe ‘chat’ was the wrong—”

                “Baby,” Lawrence mutters.

                “What was that?” Conner yells. “Did you just call me a baby? My fucking ear was _bleeding,_ Lawrence! The doctor had to come check it out! It’s gonna scar!”

                “Boo-hoo.”

                “Okay!” Owen says, standing up, tired of watching this. He’s not going to let this relationship be ruined. “Both of you, that’s enough! Now, we are going to talk this shit out, and we are going to fucking do it _calmly!_ ”

                “You want _me_ to talk to _him?_ ” They both ask in unison.

                Despite the situation, Owen can’t help but think it almost funny that, even while they’re so pissed off at each other, they’re still so close, so similar, that they can talk in sync without even meaning to.

                Lawrence, meanwhile, looks at Conner as if he finds it absolutely abhorrent that they could feel the same way.

                “You know what, fuck this. I’m out. This is over.” Lawrence stands up and heads for the exit.

                “‘Over’? Lawrence, come on, please.” Owen starts to follow Lawrence, and Lawrence turns around and moves toward Owen, looking menacing.

                “No, you know what? I’m done with this shit! I can’t be part of this group anymore. Not with _him_ around.” Lawrence points an accusing finger at Conner.

                Owen takes a step back and tries to breathe calmly. Lawrence’s yelling has shaken him. “What happened to being ‘Style Boyz for life’? Did that mean nothing to you?” Owen feels very close to crying.

                “Oh, it meant something to me, but clearly not to him.” Lawrence points at Conner again, who Owen notices isn’t looking at them. “And I’m not gonna do this any longer. Clearly the Style Boyz are over—”

                “Lawrence—” Owen’s voice cracks, and his throat feels like it’s closing up.

                “No, it’s done. We’re done here. It’s not working anymore! I’m out.” Lawrence turns to look at Conner. “Was it worth it? Pulling apart our friendship—taking _advantage_ of your _best friends_ —all for the fame? Is this enough for you? You really wanted to be better than us, to enjoy your fame up on your high hill instead of _with us_ as equals? _Well,_ is it worth it? Is this _better_ than our friendship? Are you happy now?”

                Conner just stares back with a pained expression, and Lawrence turns to leave.

                “Lawr…” Owen reaches out and grabs Lawrence’s hand. “Lawr, please, you can’t just leave us.” Tears are starting to stream down Owen’s face now. “After all we’ve been through… you-you’re my closest family.” Owen’s relationship with his parents has always been a bit strained; they weren’t the most attentive, except when it came to their constant arguing, which they poured a lot of commitment into. Hurt by their fighting, and lacking the affection that such a kind-hearted boy like himself needed, he latched onto Conner and Lawrence for support, filling the hole in his heart with their love and encouragement. At this point, they’re basically his brothers, and without question, the best family he has. He can’t lose that. He’d have nothing left.

                “I’m sorry Owen.” Lawrence’s anger seems to dissolve as he looks at Owen and gives his hand a comforting squeeze. “I just can’t.” He looks at Conner, who avoids his gaze. “And I think you understand that. I’d advise you to leave too.”

                “But…” Owen takes a deep breath and rubs his face with his other hand.

                Lawrence just shakes his head and pulls Owen into a hug. He wipes a tear off of Owen’s face, looks at him for a moment, kisses him on the forehead, and walks out.

                “Yeah, just bail! That’s super cool!” Conner yells after him. Lawrence holds up a middle finger in response, not even turning around.

                Owen turns around, the weight of the situation, the fact that Lawrence has just left—maybe for real—hitting him so hard that it knocks all the strength out of him. He sinks to the floor, sobbing.

                “Dude, what’s your problem?” Conner asks. Now that Lawrence is gone, he looks a bit more at ease. Or at least, Owen thinks he does, from what he can see through his tear-blurred vision.

                “L-Lawr-Lawrence,” Owen chokes out, barely able to breathe.

                “What about him? He’s a dick, we don’t need him.” Conner’s voice has a hard edge of anger to it, which makes Owen want to cry even more.

                “He-he’s our best friend!” Owen wails. Suddenly, memories start swirling through his head. Meeting Lawrence and Conner in pre-school; sleepovers at Lawrence’s house; writing silly little songs when they were about eight; Owen and Lawrence getting Maximus; making jokes during class; skipping school to hang out; deciding to form a band; moving in together; having sleepovers in the living room; performing at open-mic nights; getting a record deal; shooting to stardom; laughing together as they came up with the Donkey Roll; going out together after performances; Lawrence and Conner hugging him; Conner laughing at a joke that Lawrence had just told. And now, slamming into him like a pile of bricks: Lawrence waving around a magazine in outrage, the title reading “Conner and the Style Boyz”; Conner blowing them off for a party with some celebrities; Lawrence fuming after Conner won the Poppy; Lawrence biting Conner onstage; Lawrence walking out. Owen starts sobbing even harder.

                “Come on, Owen,” Conner says, getting up and pulling him to his feet. “He’s a fucking asshole. He _bit_ me. We don’t fucking need him. In fact, good riddance. So please stop crying.”

                Conner’s barbed tone isn’t helping the matter. He wraps his arms around Conner and hugs him tightly.

                “Owen, stop crying over him! Whose side are you on right now?”

                “Conner…” Owen takes a deep breath. “Conner, please. There are no ‘sides’. I-I love you both. You’re-you’re my brothers.” Owen sobs into Conner’s shoulder. “You’re my family, and I love you.”

                “Well, that’s over now—” Owen lets out a muffled scream into Conner’s shoulder. “You’re gonna need to choose.” Conner puts a hand on Owen’s head, ruffling his dyed blond hair.

                “I-I choose the Style Boyz.”

                Owen can feel Conner tense up. “Not an option.”

                Instead of responding, Owen just continues to cry. His face is soaking wet now, and some of his hair is in his eyes. He pushes it back, suddenly hating the blond and wanting it gone. Wanting everything that will ever remind him of this moment in time gone.

                “Conner…” he chokes out. “You have to talk to him. We can fix this.”

                “‘ _Talk to him’_? After what he did?” Conner grabs Owen’s shoulders and holds him back so he can look into his face. 

                “Please, we can fix this. We can stay friends.” Owen takes a shaky breath. “We need to fix this. We _have_ to.”

                “Owen, it’s over. What do you want me to do?”

                Owen steps away and collapses onto the couch. He pulls his legs in and hugs his knees.

                Owen doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is that all Conner needs to do to fix this is apologize and stop doing solo stuff, recommit himself to the band, and they can go back to normal. He might say it, but he’s having trouble breathing again, and he’s not sure that he’s ready for Conner’s response.

                “Look Owen, it’s fine. We don’t need Lawrence anyway.” Conner says “Lawrence” like it personally disgusts him to have his name in his mouth. It’s been five minutes, and they already despise each other. “We can make it work without him. In fact, I’d be glad to never see him again after what he just did.” Conner’s face is red with anger.

                That last part stabs Owen like a knife. “The Style Boyz are three guys. Not two!” he yells into his legs.

                “Well, the Style Boyz are kind of over.”

                Owen lets out a wail.

                Conner takes a deep breath, calming himself down. “Look, maybe there’s some room for you in my solo stuff.” Owen gives Conner a pained look. “Okay, you don’t have to decide right away. You can think about it.” Conner comes over and grabs Owen's hand. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

               

                The plane ride home is long and hard. Since they’re leaving sooner than they were originally scheduled to, it takes a lot of work on Conner’s part to even get them tickets.  Owen is immensely grateful that he does. He doesn’t want to spend one more minute in this place. He spent the entire time while Conner was trying to get tickets sitting on a bench, trying to stop shaking and compose himself. He failed, and the next four hours on the plane go about the same. Conner orders Owen a sundae, possibly in an attempt to cheer him up, but he just eats it in messy sadness. Conner puts an arm around him, comforting him like did when they were children, and when that causes Owen to start crying again, he orders him another sundae. When they finally get off the plane, Conner has to grab his face and wipe off the caramel and ice cream.

                As soon as they get home, Owen heads straight for his room, running through the house and locking himself inside. When he gets there, he immediately goes to bed, sleeping fitfully, until he finally gives up and rolls out of bed at seven AM. He doesn’t know exactly what to do with himself anymore, but he gets up and heads to the kitchen, deciding that maybe he can drown his sorrows with a waffle.

                Owen’s trying to distract himself with breakfast plans when he walks into the kitchen and sees Lawrence, looking slightly grumpy and standing next to a box of stuff.

                “Lawrence!” Owen exclaims, running forward and wrapping him in a giant hug. “Lawrence, I knew you’d come back! This is amazing!” Owen’s crying again, but now they’re happy tears. “Lawrence, oh God, I love you! I love you so much!” Owen declares into Lawrence’s shoulder.

                “Hey Owe…” Lawrence says, sounding apprehensive. Owen notices that he hasn’t really returned the hug.

                “Lawr?” he asks, stepping back to look at him. “Lawrence, is everything okay?”

                “I’m sorry Owen,” Lawrence tells him, looking down at the box. “I’m really just here to grab my stuff. And then I’m meeting Harry to uh… make it official.” He rubs the back of his neck and avoids Owen’s eyes. “I just can’t do this anymore. I told you that. I mean, come on, you didn’t feel pushed to the side too? You can’t tell me you were happy with being treated like Conner’s backup singers.”

                “Well, of course not, but…” Owen searches for the proper words. “At least we were together. That’s all that matters to me. All that’s ever mattered. That we could be happy and together.”

                “Well, I certainly wasn’t happy, and it was only a matter of time before Conner grew so big that we weren’t even together. This was inevitable. He got too greedy.”

                “You could’ve talked to him—”

                Lawrence just shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have listened; he’s too far gone. I just can’t even be around him anymore.” Owen’s not sure if that’s entirely true. He loves Lawrence, but he’s not always the best at communicating his feelings, which Owen knows is the real reason he never talked it out.

                “But, we’ve been friends for years! We could’ve fixed it.”

                “I’m sorry Owen. I couldn’t stand another _second_ of working with him. Taking credit for our hard work, pushing us into the background, he ruined everything. Took away everything that made this fun as soon as he started getting more focused on the attention than on us. Surely you saw that.” Lawrence seems to be doing his best to keep calm in front of Owen, but he’s practically shaking with anger.

                Owen nods and wipes his face, new tears forming in his eyes.

                “I’m sorry Owe,” Lawrence repeats. He puts a shaky hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Good luck. I love you.”

                “Owen?” a voice calls from behind them.

                Lawrence shoots an angry look in its direction before grabbing the box and walking out, looking at Owen one last time as he does.

                “Who was that?” Conner asks, coming into the kitchen just as Lawrence shuts the back door.

                Owen turns to look at Conner, tears rushing down his face. “It’s over, it’s really over.”

                “What? Who was it?” Conner looks confused for a moment, then his face clears. “ _Lawrence?_ He was here? Why?”

                “He-he came to get his stuff.” Owen feels so tired, so weak. He’s ready to just collapse onto the kitchen floor and never get back up. “He’s gone!”

                “Oh. Well, like I said yesterday, good riddance.”

                Owen can’t take it anymore. His two best friends in the entire world, his two _brothers,_ insulting each other and arguing and both full of hate and anger towards the other. It’s sickening, and it’s tiring and it’s hurtful, and he can’t handle it anymore. According to the clock, it’s been maybe sixteen hours since Lawrence attacked Conner, and Owen is already exhausted.

                Owen lets out a sound close to a scream.

                “Whoa, Owen, what’s up with you?”

                Owen doesn’t respond. He feels weak, but he somehow gets himself to turn and walk away, heading off towards his room. It’s a miracle he even makes it there, that he doesn’t just collapse onto the floor of the kitchen in a sad puddle. When he reaches his room, he slams the door, feeling kind of like a child, but not sure if he can be bothered to care. He collapses onto the bed, and surrounds himself with blankets and stuffed animals. A picture on his bedside table catches his eye, one of the three of them, smiling and hugging, and he wonders, as the tears stream down his face, blurring his vision, how everything has so quickly fallen apart.

               

                For the next week, Owen doesn’t come out of his room except to eat or go to the washroom. Harry came over that first day, basically to confirm what they already knew: that Lawrence had quit the band and they’d gotten out of their contract, the Style Boyz where no more, all that. Owen refused to come out when Conner knocked, so Harry explained through the door. He offered to come in if Owen needed support, but Owen refused, and eventually they left him alone, though Conner has continued to knock on the door every morning to see how he is, and if he’s ready for company. He always says no, and Conner tends to leave it at that, seemingly unsure of what to do with an uncooperative Owen.

                Owen’s been lying around his room, eating junk food while wearing an old Style Boyz hoodie—now covered in stains—and crying while he watches old home movies. He’s also been drinking and smoking quite a bit, but he’s trying to save that for night—when he has trouble sleeping—so during the day it’s mostly just whatever junk food he can find. Luckily for him, formerly the residence of three boys in their twenties, the house is full of all kinds of snacks.

                Owen’s lying on the bed, staring at the TV without really absorbing what’s going on—it’s a blur anyway, without his contacts in—and wondering what the three of them would be doing right now, if things were normal, when there’s a knock at the door.

                “Owen?” It’s Conner.

                “Go away,” Owen says, pulling a blanket over his head and accidentally spilling the crumbs out of a bag that was sitting on top of it. They tumble across his stomach. “Fuck,” he mutters.

                “Owen, come on. You’ve been locked up for eight days now, enough is _enough_! When was the last time you went outside? The last time you ate a proper meal? The last time you showered? Hey, do you want me to pour you a bath? Baths are nice, very calming, very relaxing. That’d be good for you.”

                Owen just sighs and pulls the blanket higher, ignoring the crumbs now.

                “Owen, _come on_!” Conner bangs on the door.

                “No!”

                “Owen! You need to leave this room eventually! Don’t you miss the outside?”

                The outside, where Owen’s best friends hate each other, and he’s stuck between them, and he’s basically lost everything that’s mattered to him over the past twenty years?

                “No.”

                The doorknob twists for a few seconds, and suddenly Conner is pushing his way into the room.

                “Oh my God, dude,” Conner says, coughing. “Open a window or something. What the fuck have you been doing in here?” Conner sniffles. “Have you been smoking weed?”

                “Maybe…” Owen says, wiping his eyes.

                “Oh my God, dude, look at yourself.” Conner gestures around at the room. “This place is a mess.”

                Admittedly, Owen has let the room get a little messy. His bed is a tangle of sheets, there’s a pile of dirty clothes in the corner, half-finished chip bags everywhere, empty beer cans sitting on the night stand, and more cartons of Ben and Jerry’s than Owen would like to admit to having eaten are piled next to the chair, where Owen sat sobbing into his ice cream as he watched videos of their past performances, feeling like his heart had been ripped out.

                “Dude, this place is _awful_. And _seriously_ , when was the last time you even brushed your teeth?”

                Owen thinks for a moment. “Not sure.”

                “Dude, have you even looked in a mirror? You look awful.”

                Owen reluctantly finds his glasses and slips them on. His contacts dried out ages ago, and he didn’t really feel like putting new ones in, so he’s been either wearing his glasses or, more commonly, just staring at everything in a slight blur. The room finally in focus for the first time all day, Owen glances at the mirror. His roots are coming back in—a thick chunk of dark hair overtaking the blond—and his hair sticks straight up in some spots, while other pieces fall limply across his forehead, slick and ropy with grease. The blond that’s left in his hair contrasts wildly with the dark beard he’s started to grow, which is full of crumbs, bright orange pieces of Cheeto sticking out in the darkness. His skin is pale and blotchy, and there are very pronounced dark circles under his eyes. His eyes look almost glazed, and his lips are red from where he’s bitten them. His hoodie is covered in chip crumbs and ice cream stains, a splotch of something red covering the logo. Overall, it might be fair to say that he looks a bit like death. Which does pretty accurately describe how he feels.

                “So?”

                “‘ _So_ ’? Owen, come on, you’ve gotta get back to normal. You’ve been locked in here for ages.”

                Owen just glares at him.

                “At least take a bath and eat something healthy. When was the last time you at a piece of fruit?”

                Owen continues to glare. “What does it even matter?”

                “You know, you’re gonna get scurvy or something. How about I make you something?”

                “Mac and cheese,” Owen replies.

                “Okay… how about something a bit healthier? Maybe a salad? I could make you a salad. And then maybe we could even go outside?”

                “No.” Owen turns around and shoves his face into his pillow.

                “Owen, come on! You need to do something! It’s been over a _week!_ ”

                “I’d really rather not,” Owen says into the pillow.

                “No, you know what, this has been enough! You’re gonna go clean yourself up, and we are going to leave the house, and you are going to eat a goddamn vegetable!”

                “That sounds awful.”

                “Look, Owen, I love you, and I’m _really_ sorry that you’re upset, I am _so_ sorry that we hurt you, but you need to get back out there. And for the sake of your health and well-being, you _need_ to get clean and eat some real food, okay?” Conner takes hold of Owen’s arms and pulls him onto his feet, dragging him across the room. Owen tries to protest, kicking out behind him, but he can’t seem to connect with anything, and Conner’s a lot stronger than him, pulling him across the hall into the bathroom with ease.

                “Now,” Conner says, unzipping Owen’s hoodie and ripping it off of him, holding it out at arm’s length. “You are not leaving this room until you are clean. Understood?”

                Owen sighs and steps into the shower, taking off his pants and underwear and throwing them over the shower curtain.

                “This is absolutely disgusting!” Conner yells as Owen turns on the water. At that, Owen starts to smile, reminded of another memory. A Style Boyz memory.

                And then, as the water starts running over him, Owen sinks to the floor of the shower and starts crying.

 

                Eventually, at Conner’s yelled insistence, Owen gets up and actually washes himself, scrubbing at his hair, trying to get the ridiculous blond out. Of course, it doesn’t really work, and once he’s cleaned out his beard and assured Conner that he’s used soap everywhere and washed behind his ears, he’s resigned to come out of the shower, and looking at the mirror, frowns at the shock of blond hair still stuck on his head.

                Next to his glasses, Conner has laid out one of Owen’s favourite sweaters and a pair of newly washed jeans. He slips into his clothes and brushes out his curling hair, frowning at the contrast between his roots and beard versus the rest of his hair, but not feeling up to doing anything about it.

                “There’s my little Owen!” Conner exclaims, bursting with pride when Owen opens the bathroom door. “Look at you all nice and clean!” Conner frowns down at Owen’s hair. “We really do need to do something about this though. Get you shaved and then maybe dye it?” Conner picks up a strand of hair and examines it.

                “I’m fine,” Owen tells him. All this showering has made him exhausted. He really wants nothing more than to go to his room and lie back down.

                “No, come on. Looking good is part of feeling good. I read that somewhere. That’s why I always feel so dope.”

                Owen sighs and sits on the counter. “I don’t really feel like doing this.”

                “Here,” Conner says, reaching under the sink and pulling out shaving cream and a razor. “I can do it.”

                Conner applies the shaving cream to Owen’s face and gently pulls the razor across his cheeks. There’s a comfortable silence between the two, and Owen feels at peace for a few moments while Conner works.

                When Conner’s done, Owen washes his face and looks at himself in the mirror. With the beard gone, he looks younger again, and he can better see just how bad his skin has gotten, which he supposes was probably to be expected since he neglected to wash it and has been eating excessive amounts of greasy foods. Other than that, however, Owen’s almost looking back to his normal self.

                “Now for the hair,” Conner says. “What do you say we go out?”

                Owen groans.

                “Come on, it’ll be good for you.”

                “What if I stay here, and order pizza, and then sleep, and you go out?”

                Conner sighs. “You need to eat something healthy.”

                “I’ll get mushrooms on it.”

                “How about a salad?”

                Owen groans again.

                “Come on,”

                “I want mac and cheese, or I want a pizza.”

                Now it’s Conner’s turn to groan. “Just come out with me and eat something healthy like a normal person so you don’t fucking die.”

                Owen sighs and takes Conner’s outstretched hand. “Ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath.

               

                Conner starts by taking Owen to the hair salon to dye his hair back to its normal colour. Owen is already tired from doing more today than he has all week, so he just sits quietly in the chair while Conner chats with the hairdresser and spins around and around in the chair next to him. He even puts a haircutting cape on backwards at one point, pretending to be a superhero and trying to make Owen laugh. Usually, it would work, but Owen’s still a bit too focused on how his world is falling apart around him to really get into it. Conner does manage to get a quick smile out of him though, and spends the rest of their time in the salon celebrating, singing “I made Owen smile!” and “Owen is amazing!” while he spins around in the chair.

                After that, Conner, against Owen’s will, drags him into a restaurant which is _way_ too busy for Owen’s liking.

                “Conner, there are so many people,” Owen says, tugging on a loose string hanging off of his sweater sleeve.

                “It’s fine.”

                “No, it’s not. What if we get recognized? I am not in the mood for that right now. We couldn’t go somewhere less busy?”

                “We’d stick out more if we were somewhere less busy.”

                Conner has a point, but at the same time, at least there would be less people to stick out to. Owen picks up his menu, trying to hide behind it.

                “Besides, you barely wear your glasses in public, and last time anyone saw you, you were blond.”

                “Yeah, but I’m not Clark Kent, my glasses don’t magically make me a completely new person. And besides, _you_ look _exactly_ the same.”

                “Owen, look, we’re gonna be fine. Just, focus on the menu.”

               There’s silence for a few moments as Owen studies his choices. “Hey, they have mac and cheese,” Owen tells Conner.

                “Owen, come on. Real food, remember?”

                “Mac and cheese _is_ real food,” Owen argues, pouting a little.

                Conner gives him a resigned sigh. “ _Fine._ But I _swear,_ you will eat a piece of fruit before the day is over.” Conner looks back down at the menu. “And you know what, let’s have a salad to start.”

                Owen makes a face.

                “You _will_ eat this salad, or you’re not getting any mac and cheese,” Conner threatens, sounding like an exasperated mother trying to get her child to eat broccoli.

                “Fine.”

                Owen eats his share of the salad with minimal complaining—it’s not actually that bad—and has moved on to drowning his feelings in his pasta when suddenly a young woman runs up to them.          

                “Oh my God, you’re the Style Boyz, aren’t you?” she asks, smiling as she looks between Owen and Conner. “This is _amazing!_ ”

                Owen just keeps eating his macaroni and tries to ignore her.

                “Although, I guess you’re kind of broken up now, aren’t you?”

                Conner shoots Owen a concerned glance, which he pretends not to see, and nods.

                “Aww, that’s such a shame. I mean, you guys have been friends for years, haven’t you?”

                Conner nods again, still looking at Owen.

                “But I guess after what Kid Brain did to you, you couldn’t really make it work, could you?”

                Another nod, and Owen notices that Conner’s expression hardens a bit at the mention of Lawrence.

                “Well, that’s okay, I’m sure you’re gonna do great on your own. You were kind of always the star anyway.”

                Conner nods, finally looking away from Owen, and he notices that Conner’s trying to hide a smile.

                “Hey,” the girl says, noticing Owen. “Are you okay?”

                Owen nods and tries to give her a reassuring smile, but he can’t maintain it.

                “Are you sure?”

                “You should probably go,” Conner says to her.

                “What’s wrong with him?” she asks.

                “He’s having a rough time.”

                “Oh, is it because of the breakup?” She looks at Owen expectantly and Owen just gives her a desperate look. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Barely even wants to think about it.

                “He’ll be fine,” Conner tells her, though his expression implies that he’s more than a little worried that Owen’s about to have a full-on breakdown.

                Owen nods and tries to focus on Conner—at least he still has Conner, who’s being amazingly attentive and supportive—but he’s not sure that he’s above crying again, despite how much of it he’s already done.

                “Oh, it’ll be okay.”

                “ _Please_ , you should probably go,” Conner says.

                “Oh!” the girl exclaims, looking at Owen, who’s sinking in his chair, worried someone else may see them. “Right, of course. I’m probably not helping, am I?”

                Conner shakes his head, looking sorry for her.

                “Right, okay, well, it was nice to meet you. Hope you feel better soon, Kid Contact! Um, bye!” She hurries off back to her table, finally leaving them alone.

                Conner reaches across the table and grabs Owen’s hand, stroking it with his thumb. “It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “We’re going to be okay.”

                He keeps holding Owen’s hand until Owen assures him that he’s fine.

                “I’m sorry, Owen,” he whispers as he takes back his hand, so softly that Owen almost misses it. He isn’t even sure if he was supposed to hear it.

 

                When they get back home, Owen heads straight to his room, Conner trailing behind him. He throws himself onto the bed, not caring about the crumbs, and starts wrapping himself in the sheets. He finds a stuffed owl that Conner got him when they were a lot younger and cuddles it.

                “Owen?” Conner asks cautiously. “You okay?”

                “I’m fine…” Owen says, sounding unconvincing even to himself. “I’m just tired. That was a lot.”

                “We were out for like two hours.”

                “It was a lot,” Owen repeats into his owl.

                Conner sighs and slowly sits down next to Owen on the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

                “Owen, it’s been a week. You gotta get back out there. Start getting back to normal.”

                “Cool advice, but no thanks.” Owen turns away from Conner and curls up almost into a ball, pressing his face into the owl.

                Conner sighs again and lays down next to him, staring up at the ceiling.

                “I’m I gonna get crumbs in my hair now, aren’t I?” Conner asks after a few moments of laying in silence.

                Owen gives a small laugh. “Probably.”

                “Great. You know, you really should clean up your room now.”

                Now it’s Owen’s turn to sigh. “My _God_ , Conner, how much do you expect of me in one day?”

                “Right, sorry, maybe we’ll try tomorrow. For now, though, you should at least open a window. It still smells like weed in here.”

                Owen doesn’t respond, so Conner gets up and pulls the window open. He falls back down on the bed and pulls a sheet over his legs, and they lie together in silence for a long time. Eventually, Conner sits up and leans over Owen, apparently checking if he’s awake. Owen smiles at him, pushing a piece of his newly brown hair out of his face.

                “So, Owen, look… there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Conner takes a deep breath. “It’s about our future…” Conner lets the rest of the sentence hang, seeming unsure of how to finish it.

                “Yeah?” Owen asks, starting to feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t really want to think about the future, not unless it includes the three of them back together, a happy family once again. Since he’s starting to feel like that’s unlikely, he doesn’t want to hear what Conner has to say.

                “Well, I was wondering… it’s just that I’ve been offered a recording contract… I was hoping, maybe you’d want to join me?”

                Owen looks up at him, unsure of how to react, unsure of how to feel knowing that Conner’s making plans outside of the Style Boyz. He knew, of course, in the back of his mind, that this was going to happen, that the band was over, and Conner would probably do his solo shit and he’d have to find something to do, Conner even mentioned it to him back at that concert, but hearing it again, a much more serious offer, makes it almost crushingly real.

                “You don’t need to answer right away!” Conner tells him, holding his hands up. “We’ve got time. I just wanted to make sure you had time to start thinking about it. I mean, I’m gonna need a DJ, and you’re the best one I know!” Conner smiles down at him with that sweet, loving expression he gets sometimes, and Owen is _so_ touched, for about the fortieth time this week, he feels like crying.

                “I-I don’t know what to say.” Owen hadn’t even considered what he was going to do now that the Style Boyz were broken up, barely even wanting to acknowledge it as a truth. Now that he is thinking about it, he realizes that he is going to have to find a new job. Being in the Style Boyz made him pretty good money, but Owen doubts he could live off of that for the rest of his life. This is something he’s probably going to need to think about.

                And working for Conner could be perfect. He’d still get to make his beats, just like before, and hang out with one of his best friends. It’d be nowhere near as good as the Style Boyz, but at least he’d still be making music, and he wouldn’t end up on his own.

                “Well, like I said, I’m definitely gonna give you time to think about it, don’t worry.”

                “I…” Owen pauses, trying to figure out what to do. He’d love to take the opportunity, but how will Lawrence feel? And would it be giving up on the Style Boyz? He hugs his owl tighter and looks up at Conner, biting his lip.

                “Owen, it’s okay. Think about it.”

                “I-I don’t know what else I would do. I mean, without the Boyz, what am I even supposed to do?”

                “Whatever you want,” Conner tells him, not helpful in the least

                “Well, I don’t know if there’s anything else I _can_ do. I mean, without my music, without you guys, what do I have?”

                “So are you saying yes?” Conner asks, raising an eyebrow.

                “Well, it’s a great opportunity, and I’m really happy that you offered, that you would think of what I need too, so… yes, I guess I am.”

                “Oh my God, Owen!” Conner wraps his arms around him in an elated hug. “That is amazing! I’ll go tell Harry! This is gonna be great! It’ll be just like old times!”

                _Yeah_ , Owen thinks, squeezing the owl to his chest. _Just without Lawrence._

Owen stands in his room the next day, holding his phone and pacing. He still needs to clean up in here, but he doesn’t quite feel up to it, and just _thinking_ about what he’s about to do is taking a lot out of him. Mercifully, after he came back from calling Harry last night, Conner didn’t say anything about the room, just sat back down, still bursting with excitement, and asked Owen if he wanted to watch a movie and talk about the future. Owen objected to the last part, and Conner obliged, seeming to sense that he still wasn’t quite feeling alright. After the movie, Owen asked if he could stay in Conner’s room, which he thankfully agreed to. Owen’s been prone to nightmares in the past—brought on by falling asleep to his parent’s arguments—and for years, Conner and Lawrence were there to help him through them. Ever since the Boyz broke up, they’ve been really bad, though Owen didn’t really want to have to talk about it, so he suffered alone, smoking to try to ease the edge off. He’s immensely grateful to finally have someone around to comfort him, and somewhat understand, even if Conner doesn’t seem to be as hurt by it. He’s pretty sure they’re both hurting; Conner’s just better at hiding it, and using the fact that Lawrence attacked him as a perfect defence against the possibility that he could be missing him.

               Owen takes a deep breath and looks at his phone. _I can do this_ , he tells himself. _I can do this._ He turns on the screen and opens his contacts, scrolling down to Lawrence’s name. Bracing himself, he clicks it, and holds the phone up to his ear before he can change his mind.

                It rings for a little bit, though Owen can barely hear it over the pounding of his heart, and after a while, it goes to voicemail. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse, but taking a deep breath, Owen decides to just go for it, leaping right in.

                “Hey Lawr. It’s me, Owen. I just—um, I just wanted to tell you that I uh… well, Conner asked me to be his DJ. And I-I said yes. I just thought you should hear it from me, before you like, see it on the internet or something. I know what you’re gonna say, ‘after the way he treated us, you’re really gonna do this?’ But I think I’d like to give him a second chance. He’s really been here for me lately. Besides, this really is my best choice right now. I can keep making my music, and still at least be with one of you. Making music with my friends, that was always the point.

                “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure if you were gonna try this solo stuff too, I-I don’t want you to think I’m picking Conn over you, but he asked, and I think it’s really gonna be good for me. Like I said, at least I can keep following my dreams in some capacity, and at least I’ll still be working with one of my friends. It’s no Style Boyz, of course not, but for now, it’ll do. One day we’ll get back together.” Owen gives a sad laugh. “It’s probably naïve of me to think that, isn’t it? Although, if I give up hope, then really, what do I have left?” Owen takes a deep breath and tries not to think about that as tears start to form in his eyes.

               “Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for this, and respect my choice to do this. I know you’re not gonna forgive Conner until he can apologize, and I completely understand that—” Owen’s voice cracks, and he’s crying again. He wipes at his face with his sweater sleeve. “I just _really_ hope that none of this affects _our_ relationship. Just because we chose two different paths, and I’m with Conner now—” Owen breaks off in a sob and takes a few deep breaths. “I _really_ want the two of us to stay friends. I mean—I love you, Lawrence. I love you so much. And I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship.” Owen pauses for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “But I really think this is going to be good for me. So I’m sorry, but, I need to be happy too, and I think that being Conner’s DJ… I just feel like that’s the right choice.

               “Anyway, please, _please_ don’t hate me. I want to talk _all_ the time. I want to know _everything_ that’s going on with you until we finally get back together—” Owen lets out a shaky breath. “Well, _if_ we get back together, I guess. But, no. I mean, it’s a when. It’s gotta be.” Owen takes a deep breath and tries to smile, even though he knows Lawrence can’t see him. “We’ll be fine. This is just temporary. One day you guys’ll see. You just need a bit of a break. Which is fine, a lot of relationships do.” Owen wonders if he’s maybe overdoing the positivity, which he barely even feels. “Anyway, tell me _everything._ I want to know. And _please_ don’t be mad at me. You know I love you both with _all_ of my heart.” He lets out a long exhale. “ _Please_ call me back. Okay?” Owen bites his lip, unsure of what else to say. “I’d love to hear what you’re up to. Good luck with whatever it is.” He wipes at his cheek again. “I love you, Lawrence. Bye.” He hangs up and sinks to the floor, crying.

 

                It’s been almost two months since the Style Boyz broke up. Lawrence and Conner still haven’t talked to each other, which is really starting to worry Owen, but he’s trying to just take it one day at a time. He knows that they’re probably going to need more time apart, and as much as it hurts him, he’s prepared to give it to them. He just hopes that they can figure their shit out soon, because he’s starting to get anxious.

                Owen absently-mindedly touches the tattoo that now adorns his right forearm, “Style Boy for life” written in a cursive script across his skin. He’d debated back and forth on it for ages, wondering if it would be a mistake, but finally, a slightly tipsy and very nostalgic Owen won out, and he ended up getting it. Sober Owen woke up with a lot of regret—though mostly because of how much it hurt—but in the month since he got it, he’s decided that he absolutely loves it. It’s a good reminder for him of how things were, and to keep positive that they’ll return to that eventually. Conner hasn’t said anything about it, but Owen knows he’s seen it. He saw him looking at it a few weeks ago, and realizing what it said, he saw a sadness cross Conner’s face, quickly replaced by something like anger, and then a judgemental glance in his direction. Owen tried not to feel too hurt, and took it as Conner trying to hide his true feelings.

                While Conner and Lawrence still haven’t spoken to each other—and neither will listen to Owen talk about the other—they are at least both speaking to _him_. Lawrence called him back a few hours after he’d left his message. While he didn’t seem thrilled in the least with the idea that Owen had chosen to work with Conner, they’d had a surprisingly good talk—much more feelings than Owen could usually squeeze out of him—and Lawrence had hung up with the assurance that he wouldn’t hold this against him, that he just wanted Owen to be happy, and of course he would call him to chat if he wanted.

                Owen doesn’t love the idea of being stuck between the two, and is still dying for them to _talk to each other_ (if Lawrence could’ve only articulated his feelings so perfectly to _Conner_ , instead of attacking him, this would’ve never happened), but he’s glad that he at least still has both of his friends in this. It’s taken some of the sting off and made it a little bit easier to cope, though his relationship with Lawrence _is_ a bit more strained, with Owen feeling like he can’t talk about certain things, and, despite what he may say, picking up the vibe that Lawrence isn’t very cool with his choice.

                He realizes, actually, that this is probably the longest he’s ever gone without seeing Lawrence in his entire life. He feels that that’s certainly not helping their relationship much either, and frowns down at his tattoo. When will they put aside their differences and just love each other again?

                In the meantime, however, Owen’s actually doing pretty good. Conner’s got a performance of some of his new solo stuff tonight—his first performance as a solo artist, and Owen’s first time as his DJ—and they’ve already worked on a few songs for the album. Working has been a good distraction for him, and he’s actually felt pretty happy whenever he’s been in the studio, playing around with his synths like old times, like maybe nothing’s changed.

                “Hey, Owe, you ready to go?” Conner asks, stepping into the room. Owen’s sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing a jean shirt, and a beanie pulled over his hair, glasses slipping down his nose as he looks down, double-checking some last minute details on his laptop.

                “Of course,” Owen replies. As he gets up, he notices Conner’s eye on his tattoo again, and tugs on the sleeve of his jean shirt. He remembers it being either Lawrence’s or Conner’s at some point, though he can no longer remember whose.

                “How are you feeling?” Conner asks, looking back up at Owen’s face. As Owen approaches, he puts an arm around his shoulder and smiles at him.

                Owen takes a deep breath and leans into Conner slightly. “Pretty good, actually.”

                Conner looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Are you sure?”

                Owen stops walking and smiles up at him. “I think I really am.”


End file.
